


Pride Is Not the Word I'm Looking For

by darthsydious



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Molly kicking butt and taking names, feels for Molly, prideful sherlock, what what Molly solves a case?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:48:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28432677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darthsydious/pseuds/darthsydious
Summary: A case abroad! Only it's Molly's assistance that's been requested, not Sherlock. He doesn't take it well, but he comes around. Old prompt-fill for Artbylexie/Thisisartbylexie
Relationships: sherlolly
Comments: 4
Kudos: 48





	Pride Is Not the Word I'm Looking For

“Think of it, Molly, an entire week!”  
“In the South Downs, yes, it sounds lovely,” Molly agreed.  
“Oh hang the location! But a locked door murder, that’s the thrill! Oh I do love my job!” he clasped her face in his hands, kissing her forehead. “Tea please!” and he flopped onto the couch.  
She shook her head, reaching for the kettle anyway. “Fine, but you’ll pour out.”  
“Of course,” he answered. She’d started requesting something in return when he made his demands of her, usually if he demanded access to the lab, she’d ask he open the door for her, and he did. Or if he asked for tea or hot chocolate, she asked that he be the one to pour it, and he did. Mary Watson said it took a Hooper to teach a Holmes, John said it was that he was finally seeing sense and returning all the thousands of favors he owed Molly. Molly knew deep down Sherlock was a good man, and that he was just plain old finally allowing himself to be that good person.  
“Have you packed at all?” Molly asked, carrying the tray into the lounge, setting it on the coffee table.  
“I will when I get in, I wanted to rush over to tell you,” he sat up, reaching for the pot of tea. Just then his phone buzzed.  
“Might be Lestrade, better get that,” Molly said and picked up Toby, swaying back and forth.  
He allowed himself to admire her, just for that moment. She was at ease, cuddling that ridiculously large cat, and looking rather charming, impatiently waiting for him to get off the phone.  
“Holmes,” he answered, still looking at her across the room, eyes twinkling merrily at her.  
“Sherlock, you left before I could finish debriefing you, you idiot! John’s on his way over to give you the file.”  
“I don’t need a file, Graham-“  
“His name is Greg and you know it!” Molly said aloud so that Lestrade would hear her over the phone.  
“Is that Molly?” Lestrade asked. “Put her on, will you?”  
“What? What for?” Sherlock was immediately suspicious. Greg was going through a bout of loneliness again, he didn’t trust the Inspector’s wandering eye. He wished he’d just bloody well make a move on Donovan and get it over with. There was a pool going around the station about when Lestrade would buckle under and ask Donovan out.  
“She’s pertinent to the case,” Lestrade replied.  
“Me?” Molly turned, Toby still in her arms as Sherlock held the phone out to her.  
“It would seem so,” he shrugged and sat back down, popping a biscuit in his mouth while he poured tea.  
“Hello?”  
“Hi, Molly, listen, Sherlock ran off before I could tell him the rest of the case, I wanted to tell him before he heard it through the grapevine about this particular case, it being a puzzler and all that, but it’s you they want in the Downs, not him.”  
“Me?!” she nearly dropped Toby. Now one-arming the cat, who seemed perfectly content to be held any which way, she glanced at Sherlock. “What do you mean they want me to go? I’m not a detective.”  
“No, but you are a pathologist, the best in the country, matter-of-fact.”  
“Gregory Ellwood Lestrade don’t you dare go spreading around what Sherlock is telling people just because he’s got access to Barts-“  
“I’m not,” Lestrade insisted. “It’s fact, Molly, the fact is the Chief Medical called up my head directly, there’s a lot of scuttle-butt going around about this case, he requested you by name.”  
“Oh…” she let the cat drop, not quite sure what to do or say. “Well…yes of course I’ll go, I’ll have a bag packed as soon as I can.”  
“Thank you, save your receipts, it’ll be reimbursed, we’ll pay you Sherlock’s fee, whether you discover anything or not. Chief Medical wanted us to be quite clear on that.”  
“But…what about Sherlock?” she asked, glancing at the consulting detective, who had stopped fussing with the tea tray and was clearly listening in on the conversation.  
“He can come along, I figured he’d show up, which is why I told him anyway, but he wasn’t requested. You were the only one.”  
“I see…thank you…yes of course I’ll go. I’ll be on the first train out.”  
“Thanks Molly, have a good trip, I’ll make sure you’ve got a copy of the report.”  
“Ta,” the phone beeped, signaling the detective had hung up. She stared at the phone for a moment longer. “They want me…not you,” she said, not recognizing her voice at all.  
He straightened, not quite sure he understood her correctly. “I’m sorry?”  
She took a step forward. “They’ve asked that I go, oh Sherlock, a corker like this and- I’m so sorry-“  
“Never mind that,” Sherlock waved his hand, getting to his feet. She knew he was disappointed, it was clear as day. He was struggling to comprehend that probably the most interesting case of the year was not handed to him, which was his line of work, but to her, a mere pathologist. “You’ve got to pack, besides I’m still going to tag along, try and stop me! This is marvelous!” he hurried into her room, taking down her overnight bag.  
“What? You…you aren’t disappointed?”  
He glanced up from opening her drawers, pulling out the necessary clothing. “Why should I?”  
“Sherlock.”  
He paused, hands hovering over her pajamas, then rested them against the sides of the dresser. “It is a fascinating case, of course I would have liked to be hired for it, I’ve been itching for a good case and no it isn’t fair and I’m rather upset about it, and-“ he shook his head, clearly trying to rid himself of any upset. “I am not thinking of me at this moment,” he seemed to be trying to convince himself. “You’ve got a half hour to pack before your train leaves- you finish here, I’ll ring Mycroft to clear traffic for you.” As he passed her by, he kissed her cheek. “I am proud of you,” he said, before bringing his phone to his ear.  
“Have him get a bag packed for you as well!” Molly called, cheek still tingling from his lips pressing her.  
From her room, as she continued to pack, she could hear Sherlock on the phone:

_Did you insist the Chief Medical ask Molly by name? No, I’m not jealous…exactly… I don’t want her to be insulted just because someone was using her to get to me! It is plain fact that she’s the best pathologist in the country. I don’t want some buffoon doctor-turned-politician trying to get on my good side by taking my pathologist away from her work for an entire week! . . . No I am not at all surprised that he knows her by name, her work is excellent, and it’s about time they realized this! . . . Well of course I am accompanying her on this case! . . . No of course I’m not going to interfere with her work. Why the bloody hell would I? She’s a grown woman, not a toddler for God’s sake! . . . Yes, I will tell her you said so._

The conversation ended shortly after, so Molly quickly went back to packing, her mind racing. So this wasn’t some favor of Mycroft’s being called in, and Sherlock really wasn’t jealous! Well…not that he would ever be so petty around her. Maybe around Lestrade or John, but not her. There was a good deal of pride, her being called on by name of the Chief Medical, that after all her years of hard work and study, she was being recognized for what she did. That was certainly something!  
“Oh! What about Toby!” she asked, turning as Sherlock came into the room again.  
“Mary will look after him,” he said. “She’s just offered. Says she doesn’t have anything to do anyway, since she’s on maternity leave.”  
“Oh isn’t it lovely?” Molly sighed, causing him to look up.  
“Mary and John were always suited to be parents, I am not so surprised they’re having another. Mary’s always wanted a big family.”  
“I think it’s wonderful, Rosie will have a baby brother and baby sister,”  
“Hmmhm,” Sherlock was still texting. “Finished packing?”  
“Yes,”  
“Toby have food?” he picked up her bag and headed for the door.  
“Yes let me just scoop the litter first, leave him with a clean box.” 

Sherlock waited by the door with her coat on his arm until she returned, shutting most of the lights off as she went.  
“Ready?”  
Heart hammering in her chest, she nodded. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”  
“You’ve nothing to be nervous about, you’re brilliant Molly. Just observe as you always do, and you’ll be fine.”  
“What if I can’t solve it? What if there’s nothing that makes sense or-“  
“The best cases rarely make sense, and you’ve seen me on plenty of bizarre cases.” He smiled comfortingly at her, still holding her bag as he looked down at her. “You’re going to be marvelous, Molly Hooper.” He nodded for her to pass by him so he could close the door after them. “Now snap to it.”  
She gave a smile then, shy and excited all at once. 

**Brighton and Hove, South Downs**  
The case was, of course, a spectacular one. It had all taken place in Theatre Royal, way up in a wardrobe room tucked up high above the auditorium and stage. The bodies had been there for months. Sherlock was at Molly’s side each step of the way, and followed her lead whenever she was present. It was very difficult for him to step back, because everything was jumping out at him. He could see it all so clearly. The first day was rather a disaster, and the local detective inspector had quite an argument with Molly at the station for her letting Sherlock come along. He didn’t think that was fair at all, since she had very little choice in the matter. Of course he’d come along! He disliked her being yelled at, especially when it wasn’t her fault. He did his best to keep silent the next time around, though Molly could see he was absolutely bursting when a lieutenant came to the absolute wrong conclusion. He made himself scarce, unable to deal with much more stupidity. So while she had the bodies brought back to the local morgue for her to perform the autopsies, he did a bit of his own skulking about to see what he could find. What he found to be useful or pertinent, he decided to bring directly to Molly, who made plenty of notes, until Sherlock suddenly took the pencil and pad from her.  
“I’ll take notes, you piece it together,” he offered. Molly looked at him, startled, aware of the reversal in their roles. Sherlock Holmes did not need to take notes. He kept it all up in his head. She could see him struggling with the tedium of it, he was trying so hard to step back and let her do her work.  
“Actually, will you just record them for me please?” she set the autopsy recorder by him. “I’d rather listen to it than read it.”

He smiled his thanks, clearly relieved, and set up the machine, taking solace in her quietly murmuring her own findings, slowly linking the facts together. Piece by piece, like the links of a chain the case began to connect with the clues, and a solution began to form. Pretty soon, Molly was the one grabbing him by the hand towing him along a slippery path along the beach, towards the pier. She’d stayed in Brighton every summer as a child, and she knew the area very well. She ended up doing a lot more running around than she’d anticipated. She had assumed as head pathologist for the case she’d be in the labs mostly, and she was a good deal of the time. Still, when she happened upon some clue while doing her work, and Sherlock would wait for her to make the call, their eyes would meet, and she could see him itching to run right over to the place in question, and Molly felt herself wanting a breath of air as well, and too, to beat the local police to, as they were mostly dunder-heads who didn’t seem to understand basic science at all. She couldn’t very well pull fresh clues off of four-month-old corpses! Tests had to be run, samples had to be taken, clothing had to be very carefully pieced over and examined. Separating the dust, mildew and bacteria from the actual remaining viscera and bones was no easy task. It took time. 

Sherlock began revel in Molly’s confidence, leaving behind his bitterness at not being asked to work the case. This was what she was best at. She excelled at the painstakingly slow process of searching and separating. Her patience was miles ahead of his own, so when he found himself getting restless, he went to fetch dinner or tea for them, or solved cases via email. Of course, Molly didn’t do all the solving, there was at least one good detective in Brighton (married, happily so, Sherlock checked…just in case). It was a brilliant case, and Sherlock could help in some respects of the case. Mostly though, he followed Molly around, offering his support when he saw her becoming frustrated. Caring for her, for she was too tired or busy to look after herself properly, became his priority. He fetched and carried, made sure she ate properly and slept when she needed to, even tucking her in. If he happened to tuck himself in beside her, he simply told himself it was to make sure she stayed asleep. She would surely be missing Toby’s presence at night as the cat always curled up beside her. He was merely taking the cat’s place. That was all. 

It was a magnificent case and Sherlock began to enjoy it unfolding before Molly’s eyes. It came a marvelous crescendo at the Theatre Royal. He and Molly chased the murderer through the backstage, up the catwalks and into the rigging where they were finally caught. The murderer behind bars, they returned to the hotel to pack and head back to London.  
“I love Brighton,” Molly sighed, once they were settled on the train.  
“Even after you almost got strangled, shot at, and lost your good shoes over the chalk cliffs?”  
“I liked those shoes,” Molly sighed.  
“I’ll find you another pair,” he promised.  
She shrugged. “Anyway the case was fun, and it reminded me I ought to have a holiday more often. Not a murder-solving holiday, mind.”  
“You’re tired,” he noted, and she leaned against the cushions of the chair.  
“I am at that. If this is what solving a case is like for you, I don’t know how you do it all the time.” She nudged her shoes off, propping her feet up on the opposite chair. “I’m absolutely knackered.”  
“It’s a good knackered,” he added, and she smiled tiredly, humming in agreement. “Shut your eyes,” he encouraged, pressing her forehead twice, and quite lovingly. “You were marvelous,” he said, lips still against her skin. “Absolutely lovely.”  
“So were you,” she said, eyes still shut.  
“What did I do?” he asked, leaning back so he could look at her.  
She opened her eyes, tilting her head up towards him. “You were supportive, Sherlock. You were at my side nearly the whole time, and you didn’t put up a fuss, too much anyway. That’s what I needed, and it was wonderful of you.”  
“I’ll always support you,” he said. “I’m sorry if I haven’t in the past- or if I was boorish at the start-“  
She placed a finger over his mouth, then replaced it with her own lips, smiling against him. “Hush and take the compliment. You’re what I needed, Sherlock.”  
“’Needed’?” he repeated, not liking the past tense.  
“I’ll always need you, Sherlock, well…not need per say, I can live very well without you, but I rather like having you around.” Her grin was cheeky, and he suddenly was taken up with the overwhelming desire to kiss her senseless.  
“That’s funny, I was thinking the same thing,” he said, and ducked his head, kissing her once more. “What do you propose we do about?”  
“Sleep on it,” Molly answered, a teasing smile. She laughed as he sat back, somewhat pouting. “Come over to mine, I’ll make breakfast when we wake up, and we can talk all about who’s going to live where.”  
“I thought of that-“ Sherlock began, but Molly again placed a finger over his mouth.  
“In the morning,” she pleaded gently. “I’m so tired I can’t think straight, and I’d like to give our relationship the proper care and thought that I know you have while I was in the lab all this week.”  
“Very well,” he acquiesced, and pressed her forehead just once more. “Sleep for now, I’ll wake you when we get to Victoria station.”  
“Thank you.” Resting her head against him, she felt him settle his arm against her shoulders, squeezing gently. “Did I do you proud? Solving the case?” she couldn’t help but ask, even as she was drifting off.  
“My dear Molly Hooper,” he smiled reverently at her. “Pride is not quite the word I’m looking for, it’s not big enough, you see.”  
“You’ll just have to show me tomorrow then.” That cheeky smile was back, and Sherlock responded with his own mischievous smile.  
“You’d best behave,” he warned.  
“Or what?” she murmured, cracking an eye open, looking up at him.  
“Or I’ll marry you,” he replied.


End file.
